


Becoming the Ace

by TrulyMightyPotato



Series: Royal Flush [43]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood, Guns, Jack eavesdrops, Minor Injuries, pre-AAO, series typical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28966068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrulyMightyPotato/pseuds/TrulyMightyPotato
Summary: Jack's heading out of town to practice with his rifle and overhears Rhett and Link talking in the alley below.
Series: Royal Flush [43]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/699969
Comments: 9
Kudos: 11





	Becoming the Ace

_ November 9, 1921 _

The McLaughlin Boys had been on edge since late September. Jordan Maron, the mob’s sharpshooter, had been in so many shouting matches with Rhett for the past month or two, and the latest had escalated. Guns had been pulled. Then Maron left them in a storm of fury, and never returned. The mob was down their best sharpshooter.

“Best” sharpshooter.

Jack knew he was better than Maron. Maron was good, yes; but he wasn’t Jack.

None of the people who had power in the mob believed him when he said he could shoot. He was a card dealer, after all. Nothing more.

He was a fantastic card dealer, but it wasn’t his calling. It was mind-numbing monotony. The cards were too easy to manipulate, and the people who frequented the gambling rings were just as easy. He let one win every now and then, of course, when the stakes were low, just so everyone would keep playing. Even more rarely, he let one get a big win—usually when everyone was starting to get discouraged.

It brought in enough income, he supposed. The mob thrived on the extensive gambling network they’d built, and he was paid not too shabbily. He sent most of it home, of course. He lived in the warehouse, so it wasn’t like he needed much.

Jack let out a sigh and picked his way across the rooftops, walking carefully. He wasn’t in any sort of hurry, after all. He had the weekend off, so he was going to go practice his shooting in the nearby woods. It wouldn’t do to get rusty.

“You know it doesn’t work like that.”

Jack froze at the familiar voice drifting in from below. Link.

“It should.”

Rhett.

“I mean, it’s not exactly like there are rules for this sort of thing.” Link sounded apologetic. “Your dad started this, it makes sense he’d get to choose how that sort of thing worked.”

“He’s a dealer. Nothing more.”

“You’ve never seen him use that rifle of his. It’s not like just anybody can use those successfully.”

Jack glanced over his shoulder to the bag slung over his shoulder, where his rifle was tucked out of sight.

Were they talking about him?

He had time to listen. Eavesdropping on your boss was always a good idea. Job security, in an odd way.

“I don’t understand what Dad saw in him.” Rhett was speaking. “He’s too young for that sort of thing.”

“He lived through a war, Rhett,” Link said gently. “Just because he’s in his twenties doesn’t mean he hasn’t been grown up for a long time.”

Rhett grunted something at that, though Jack didn’t catch what. “He’s good with the spuds, at least,” Rhett acknowledged. “They’ll listen to him better than they will either of us.”

“They need all the help they can get.” Link admitted. “It hasn’t been easy for any of them. We’re lucky we’re able to help them at all, but just keeping clothes on their back and providing anything at all for them to eat is more expensive than I’d ever tell them.”

Jack picked his way along the roof slowly, keeping pace with the two leaders of the McLaughlin Boys down below.

“Do you think,” Rhett said slowly, “if the men were trained better, that they’d be able to bring in more? As much as I hate to admit it, Jack’s discipline and handle of the card tables is one of the biggest reasons we can do what we can. We’ve had to shuffle him around a bit, but now he’s manning the biggest tables we have.”

“We can ask him if he’s willing to train others. Some of it is talent, I’m sure, but even a little bit could help.”

Whatever Rhett said next was too low to catch.

“Rhett.”

“Look, you know as well as I do that the rumors are the last thing we need.”

“We need someone to keep a better eye on the gambling dens, and you know it. He clearly knows what he’s doing.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. Rhett didn’t like him. Why was Link suggesting they promote him in the ranks of the mob? It wasn’t like Rhett was going to agree with it.

“I’m not worried about him knowing what he’s doing, to be completely honest.” Rhett paused, perhaps trying to find the right words. Jack could practically imagine the way Rhett’s eyebrows scrunched together and he pursed his lips like he always did when he was thinking hard about something. “It’s... he’s too young. He’s not even twenty-five yet. He shouldn’t even be able to deal cards as well as he can, not yet. He shouldn’t know how to use that rifle of his, much less even as well as he can—the spuds tell me he can hit bottles they’ve lined up on the roof of a warehouse a few away, but I don’t know if that’s just stories.”

“He  _ was _ a sniper in the war. Don’t forget that, and don’t discount it just because he’s young.” Link sighed. “It’s not like he’s had a choice. The war pulled everyone who could go. That included him.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“No. It doesn’t.” A pause. “I don’t know if it’s luck or skill that had him survive the war, but I suspect it’s probably a combination of the two.”

“I don’t know what to do about him, Link.”

Jack rolled his eyes. Of course. Because  _ talking _ to him would be too much work, too much of a prerogative.

Shadows down the alley caught his attention: several of them, moving towards Rhett and Link. 

“...advice from the older men,” Link was saying. “Like Willy, you know he’ll be honest with you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Several of the approaching shadows shifted, weapons glinting softly in the low light. Jack crouched, solidifying his position on the roof, and reached for his rifle.

“You can’t just ignore what’s best for the Boys because of your personal opinions,” Link continued, even as Jack pulled out his rifle and leveled the sight at the approaching shadows. He could pick out at least six or seven different people in the darkness, all with varying weapons.

“But how do I  _ know _ it’s what’s best?” Rhett complained. “Jack and I hardly speak, I can’t exactly evaluate him like that.”

One of the people drew a gun, the dim lamp light glinting off the barrel unmistakably.

“Well, if you would try talking to him  _ without  _ being grumpy-”

Jack shot first.

He didn’t dare take his eye off of the attackers, but based on Link’s shout, Jack’s shot had gotten their attention. He rolled back from the edge of the roof just in time to avoid being hit by the bullet that came up through the shingles. Even then, it nicked his arm near his elbow.

Jack cursed and braced himself on the roof. He hardly had to glance down his sight to zero in on the remaining six attackers and fire off three shots in rapid succession, taking a split second to reload—something he’d learned in the war.

Three more bodies dropped to the ground, and three other gunshots snapped off: from Rhett and Link, finally responding to the attack.

Jack fired once more, taking down the final attacker.

The alley fell silent.

Jack examined his arm, grimacing at the blood running down it. It wasn’t a deep wound, really more of a deep scratch than anything else, but it sure hurt. 

“-don’t know-”

Jack glanced up at the whisper floating up to him. It had been so quiet he almost hadn’t heard it, and he most definitely couldn’t tell whether Rhett or Link had said it. 

“-danger?”

“Maybe.”

Jack sighed and leaned forward, putting one hand on the edge of the roof to balance himself as he looked down.

Rhett and Link slowly looked up.

“Jack?” Link asked. “Were you shooting?”

“Yeah,” Jack called down. “Saw them drawing weapons on ya.”

Rhett glanced at Link. “Did you hear anything?”

Jack shook his head. Rhett already didn’t like him, knowing that Jack had been eavesdropping certainly wasn’t going to improve that. “No. I was just passing by on my way to go practice.”

“I think you’re in practice,” Link said, turning to look at the bodies piled in the alley.

Jack nodded.

“Are you injured? Is that blood running down your hand?” Rhett demanded.

Jack leaned back a little and glanced at his arm. “Oh, I just got grazed. I’ll be fine.”

Rhett’s scoff was audible even from the rooftop. “Get down here,” he ordered. “Let’s get back, get that treated.”

Jack grimaced but ducked to collect his rifle. He was very likely in a lot of trouble for this. He moved slowly, seeing as his arm was still bleeding freely and the blood on his fingers was making it difficult to climb down from the roof safely, even with the ladder in the alley.

As soon as he was down, Link was examining his injury, a frown on his face. “That’s a bit more than a graze, Jack.”

Jack shrugged. “I’ve had worse. I could still shoot with it, so I’m not worried about it.”

Rhett and Link exchanged a long look. Link nodded sideways at Jack. Rhett nodded minisculely.

“Hey, Jack.” Rhett fell into step next to Jack, putting a hand on his shoulder and forcing him back towards the warehouse. “What do you say to becoming the mob’s new sharpshooter?”


End file.
